Destiny of the Kingdom
by Ninja of Thunder
Summary: What if Murtagh was the one person who would choose the fate of Alegaesia? How would Galbatorix and the Varden each try to influence his choice? And why does it seem like Murtagh and Eragon are the only two people who don't know all this?
1. Prologue

Me: Yo! So my computer broke last week and I had to go without internet all week which was especially horrible in biology because all the teacher does is talk, and talk, and talk, and talk and she doesn't even talk about what we're learning!

Shadow: Yea, she prefers to talk about genetic disorders and puppy farms and then she wonders why half the class is failing.

Me: So anyway, in this week of torture, I came up with the idea for this awesome fanfic! Well I hope it's awesome.

Lightning: I'm just glad to have another fanfic to read.

Me: So anyway this is my first prologue ever so be nice and bear with me!

_**Disclaimer:**_ I do not own Eragon, or do I? Could I possibly be Christopher Paolini in disguise?

Shadow: Seriously, stop freaking out these innocent fanfic readers!

Me: Fine, anyway on with the story!

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Galbatorix sat on his throne, staring at the shade standing in front of him. The shade had brought what the king had wanted. A promise of a kingdom forever in his control, if only he controlled the destiny of the one person who could possibly overthrow him. Now that the shade had brought the ancient prophecy to him, there would be nothing to stop Galbatorix from discovering the person and bending him to his will. It was time. Galbatorix reached toward the bundle in the shade's arms that held the scroll that contained the prophecy. As Galbatorix felt the rough scroll, he could almost feel the power it held. Galbatorix kept his face impassive as he reverently opened the ancient scroll.

Galbatorix felt the surprise as he read the words, but he knew his face gave nothing away. He wouldn't need to do a manhunt after all. The source of all his unrest was already in his possession. Galbatorix felt his face stretch into a wide, sinister smile. The fate of Alagasia was in his hands now. It always had been, the difference was that now, no one would be able to deny his control. The shade smiled with bloodlust when he saw his master's apparent assurance of success, his maroon eyes narrowing in anticipation. Even his long, pale fingers flexed as if of their own accord as the shade realized what this possible enemy could mean for him. If he proved supportive of Galbatorix as he clearly suspected, he would still need to learn what was acceptable. Durza smiled an even more deadly, malicious smile, listening as his sadistic thoughts filled his head. Both were planning their deception as it would pertain to the boy. Little did they know, the son of Morzan would not be swayed as easily as they imagined.

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Me: Yea, so it's really short but it's just the prologue so the actual chapters will be longer!

Shadow: She's just saying that, she doesn't mean it!

Me: Lies! Blasphemy!

Lightning: If your other chapters aren't longer we'll just kill you in some horrible way that even Durza would shudder at.

Me: Yikes! So anywho- review plz! And NO FLAMES!

Shadow: All flames will be given to me to roast marshmallows!


	2. Dragon Riders?

Me: Yo! So I'm bored in the middle of Computer Applications and have nothing to do. That means I can type!

Shadow: It also means that I have to listen to her talk to herself while she types . . .

Me: Well I'm sorry I'm a freak and get bored easily. . .

Shadow: You got the freak part right.

Me: Hey! Anywho- I forget to say the setting of the story last time. It takes place in Eragon. So anyway, on with the story!

Shadow: Disclaimer idiot.

Me: Oops!

_**Disclaimer:**_ I do not own Eragon (or do I?).

Me: _Now_ on with the story!

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Murtagh walked slowly down the corridor. The king had asked him to join him for dinner so of course he had to go. Well, he had to go, but no one said he couldn't take his time getting there. It didn't make sense. The king had never given him any attention at all. Murtagh hadn't even been sure that the king even knew who he was. Now, suddenly, the king seemed to have some sudden interest in him, and Murtagh could only guess at what it was. Murtagh paused when he reached the huge door leading to the dining room where he was to meet the king. He speculated for a moment, wondering if the king actually expected him to knock. Well, it didn't matter anyway. Murtagh let out a sigh of impatience, eager for the night to be over, and then he lifted his hand and knocked twice on the door. One of Galbatorix's many servants opened the door for him and let him in. There was the king.

He sat tall and proud in a chair at the head of the table, a large fire roaring to life behind him. His intense eyes stared straight at Murtagh as he walked into the room and took his place next to the king. Food was already placed on the table and the servants who were still there were hastening to leave him alone with the king. They seemed to want to be here even less than Murtagh himself did. As soon as the last servant left, Galbatorix motioned for Murtagh to begin eating. Throughout the entire meal, Galbatorix's eyes never left Murtagh's face. He kept up the same, unvarying, gaze on Murtagh until he finished eating.

As the last forkful of food was swallowed, Murtagh returned the intense gaze. As if on cue, the servants returned to the room and began to gather the dirty dishes and bring them to the kitchen for washing. But then, maybe it was on cue. There were some very strange and disturbing stories about Galbatorix going around the kingdom, though never within earshot of him or his minions. Always in whispers in the darkest corners, or murmured in the shadows of some abandoned, secluded building. Murtagh's thoughts were interrupted as the last servant once again left him alone with the king. After a few more tense moments, the king began to speak in a deep, rich voice.

Words. Words surrounded Murtagh as the king painted a beautiful mental picture with his voice. His voice was as smooth and velvety as any practiced orator or storyteller. Galbatorix told him of a kingdom united under a single ruler. A sparkling utopia of an almost physically tangible essence. He told him of a kingdom without pain and suffering. A virtual heaven on earth for all people regardless of social status. Most magnificent of all, he told him of a return of the ancient guardians of Alagaesia. The Dragon Riders. He told him of the glory and the power they had had in the past. Of the astonishing and bizarre abilities they had had. All of this and more, he told to Murtagh.

It seemed too good to be true. Murtagh knew this was all too inconceivable, too extraordinary, too good to possibly be true. And yet Murtagh couldn't help but believe it. He couldn't help but to look into those intense black eyes and sense truth in everything Galbatorix told him. He couldn't help but to be entranced and, in spite of himself, somewhat hopeful. Then, as the king stopped speaking and Murtagh was unwillingly jerked back to reality, he remembered something that instantly annihilated all the hope and beauty from that breathtaking apparition. There were no more Riders. And there were no more dragons. Murtagh spoke these thoughts to the king grudgingly, as if there had been a way to restore the Riders before, but that by speaking aloud that chance had vanished and been replaced by the cold, hard truth. Galbatorix sighed wearily, as if Murtagh was a child who had to have the simplest of concepts explained to him. In the back of his mind, Murtagh noted that he should probably have been angry, or at least offended by that reaction; yet somehow he wasn't. Instead, he was simply enraptured once again as he listened to the king once again.

This time, the vision Galbatorix painted for him was not one of glory, peace, or unity, but of a single-minded determined ambition and purpose. Of an objective beyond what the king could do alone. He needed help, and not from just anybody. He needed someone he could trust. Someone with the skills and strength of mind needed to organize the return of the Riders. Murtagh's attention wavered as he processed the meaning of the king's words. Someone he could trust. With skills and strength. Murtagh once again met the eyes of his king.

"Will you help to reach this goal?" the king asked him.

Murtagh could almost feel the responsibility of the world crashing down on top of him. Could almost hear the shouts of triumph as he neared the end of this goal. And wasn't it a noble goal to have? To unite a kingdom and restore what was perhaps the most successful and righteous of all groups? Surely it was worth the struggle and strife. Murtagh sat up straighter, squared his shoulders, and raised his head in a proud and arrogant looking gesture.

"Yes, I will."

Galbatorix's face stretched into a large smile, his eyes glittering with excitement.

"Excellent, I will summon you when it is time."

Just like that, the king dismissed Murtagh to his room. As he left with a dreamy expression on his face, unbeknownst to him, the king's smile changed dramatically behind him.

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As soon as the door closed behind Murtagh, Galbatorix allowed his charming, suave mask to dissolve, replaced by his more sinister nature. His gratified smile was replaced by one of wild excitement and untamed bloodlust. His plan was flowing together nicely so far. There had been no unexpected complications, no unprepared for resistance. Murtagh had believed every word he'd heard. The time would come. The Varden would resist his rule eventually. They would challenge him. The difference was that Galbatorix now had what he needed to crush the resistance like the inexperienced rebels they were. And yet, something was wrong.

Galbatorix was not used to feelings of unease or uncertainty; but something told him in the back of his mind that this may have been just too easy. Galbatorix ignored the feeling and pushed it to the back of his mind for later consideration. There would be plenty of time for that later. Now, he planned his next move.

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Me: So there you go! I started this before a softball game and finished it in World Cultures when I could have been studying for the gayest memorization ever for English.

Shadow: Which you have yet to learn.

Lightning: Isn't that due next period?

Me: Oh Crap! Anywho- review! And no flames!

Shadow: All flames will be given to me to roast marshmallows!


	3. Escape from Uru'baen

Me: Yo! So I'm in biology! That means I'm desperate for something to do while I pretend to listen! Actually I don't even pretend to listen because my teacher already knows that no one listens to her anymore.

Shadow: Yup! And when she yells at us for not listening everyone either ignores her and packs up their stuff to leave, or continues to play games.

Me: So anywho- I'm gonna type now!

_**Disclaimer:**_ I do not own Eragon because if I did, no one would read it.

Me: On with the fanfic!

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Murtagh paced around his room restlessly. This had become a pretty common exercise for him lately. It had been months and still the king had not summoned him. Had he forgotten about him? Or had he replaced him with someone else? No. Murtagh refused to believe it. He only wished he knew why he hadn't been summoned yet. Then, just as Murtagh was about to leave and train with Tornac, he heard a knock on his door. Murtagh turned and walked curiously to the door. When he opened it, he was stunned to see one of the king's men there to greet him. He recovered quickly and was sure the man hadn't seen any sign of his shock in his demeanor.

Finally. It was time. Murtagh didn't even wait long enough for the man to say anything. He simply pushed him aside and headed for the throne room. His heart was beating faster than Murtagh had considered possible. This was his chance. Finally he could do something to help the empire. Finally he could prove he wasn't the useless child his father had always considered him to be. Finally he could be a part of something greater than himself. Finally.

The throne room came into view and Murtagh was forced to use all his self-control to stop just long enough to knock a single time. Galbatorix barely voiced his approval before Murtagh entered the room. This was his first mistake. He hadn't noticed the harsh and brutal rage simmering just underneath Galbatorix's motives. Now, it was clear in those eyes, black and clouded with a more severe and dangerous wrath and bloodlust than most people were capable of even dreaming existed. It radiated off of him, seemingly strong enough to knock Murtagh off his feet, yet somehow he kept his footing.

Murtagh was frozen in shock. This was so different from the last time he had seen Galbatorix. So contrasting from everything Murtagh had thought of him that day, now seeming so long ago. Murtagh felt almost as if his world had been suddenly turned upside down. All of his opinions on the king since he'd met him. Everything was suddenly gone. Vanished. Sent to a parallel world in which all things are intangible and there is no such thing as truth and lies, good or bad. All this Murtagh considered within just a few moments, nowhere near long enough for Galbatorix to sense his discontentment, and Murtagh was too well trained for even the king to get through to his mind. At least he thought he was. There was no telling with this wicked ruler. Murtagh knew that now; but he was about to be surprised even farther than he already was.

Galbatorix glared at Murtagh with an intense hatred in his eyes.

"Congratulations. You just got your first job."

That was all. That was all Galbatorix said until Murtagh asked: "What is my job?"

In response to this, Galbatorix seemed to discharge a new wave of rage. He went on to explain in a loud, frenzied tirade about an attack in the south. When the situation was explained in its entirety, Galbatorix demanded Murtagh to go south to Cantos to annihilate the rebel horde gathered there.

"But what about the other people? How will I know who's guilty and who isn't?" Murtagh asked, trying to hide his apprehension and, though he refused to admit it to himself, fear.

Galbatorix glared in the direction of his newest disciple and sneered in disgust, "Kill them all. They all deserve to die. Burn them at the stake and bury them with the wild beasts of the land. Crush their throats until they beg to be rid of their flesh."

Galbatorix went on to describe increasingly horrible and devastating punishments for all of his people. He relished the thrill of bloodlust as he pictured the various demises that he painted with his words. He ranted until he was sure that not even the devil himself could come up with any worse tortures than had already been said by the very devil on earth.

So this was it. He wanted Murtagh to be used as an assassin. Nothing more than a way to remove what he considered to be a threat. Nothing but a tool to take lives and sow chaos and discord throughout his kingdom. It was all he had ever wanted. Murtagh could see that now, and yet he continued to stand there, blindly listening to a raving madman as he slowly destroyed the confidence of perhaps his most important servant.

With a sudden sense of finality, Murtagh made a decision. One that would affect him for the rest of his life. He couldn't stay here. He refused to spend his entire life killing. He refused to follow in his father's footsteps. He had to leave now before he was forced to do just that. Murtagh made a resolution. That night, he would escape with Tornac. He would escape from Galbatorix, he would escape from the memory of the creature he called his father, and maybe he could escape from himself and his own complicated past.

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Galbatorix glared at the floor in front of him. The boy would try to escape. How he knew, he didn't know for sure. All he knew was that it would happen. Maybe he shouldn't have gone off like that in front of him. After all, the boy was the key to his empire. Well it was too late for that now. The boy _would_ serve him. Now it was simply a matter of whether he would serve willingly, or if Galbatorix would have to force him into it.

The time for consideration would come. Starting that night, Galbatorix would set up a guard to keep the boy in Uru'baen. He would not escape his grasp now. Not with Galbatorix's entire empire at stake. Not with the Varden out there. No doubt they would also try to exploit the boy for their own use. That is, if they knew about the prophecy. Galbatorix's mouth twisted into a cruel, haughty smile as he considered the prospect of ending the Varden's resistance. With Murtagh by his side, no one would dare to oppose him. He just had to keep him on his side. Abruptly, Galbatorix halted his idle musings and gave his men a sharp sign to prepare an extra legion for guard duty that night.

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Murtagh kept quiet as he piled some clothes and provisions into a bag. He would be leaving with Tornac in two hours time. They were to meet just outside the stables. When the time came to go, Murtagh took one last look around the room he'd grown up in. It was a bittersweet realization when he considered the fact that he would never again sleep in here. On the one hand, he had despised every second he had spent here. Always a reminder that he wasn't like other boys his age. Always a beacon to the various nobles that he was the son of the traitor Morzan. Every time he had seen someone staring at him with mixed fear and disgust, he had felt the pain of his early years once again. Yet he was ad to be leaving all this behind. Here, he had known what was expected of him. Here, he had experienced his first sense of bitter contentment. Now, he was surrendering himself to the unknown. With a final glance, Murtagh walked away from all he had ever known.

Murtagh moved stealthily as he ducked through corridors to the stables. As he neared his destination, he saw a shadowy figure emerge from the building. A second later, he recognized the figure as Tornac. With a single nod, Tornac acknowledged Murtagh's presence and led him to two warhorses. One was as gray as shifting spirits in the morning mist; the other was black as a shadow at midnight. Murtagh took the gray one and mounted, ready to leave. Without a word, Tornac joined him on horseback and both spurred their horses forward. Murtagh felt a faint spark of hope as he neared the outskirts of Uru'baen. That is until he saw what was waiting for him there.

Just a few feet from the road, Murtagh saw a glimpse of something. He stopped his horse just as a torch landed in the middle of the street, igniting the road in front of him and Tornac. The horses reared, whinnying as if their very lives depended on it. Murtagh was nearly thrown off of his horse. Then, he saw the captain of Galbatorix's guard step in front of him. Murtagh cursed his own rotten luck. How had the king anticipated this? How had he known what Murtagh was planning? It was too late to think of that now. All Murtagh could focus on now was the desperate desire inside of him, telling him to get away. Murtagh looked around him, searching for an escape.

"It's no use. You won't get away." The captain said. "You may as well give up now and serve your king."

"Never again. I won't be his assassin."

"You _will_ serve him. You know you can't hide from him. You know he'll find you eventually."

Murtagh spit at the ground by the captain's feet.

"Very well. I can see you will have to be contained by force." The captain said, reaching for the sword at his belt. Murtagh felt a sense of dread as he drew his own weapon. He was confident in his skills, but it wasn't by luck that this man was one of Galbatorix's elite.

Before either of the men could so much as move, Tornac raced past Murtagh, sword held high, and swung at the captain. Murtagh watched, frozen in shock as his friend and mentor took on the entire guard. He knew exactly what his plan was. He wanted to give Murtagh a chance of escape. He was sacrificing himself for Murtagh's sake. Tornac looked back, and yelled one word: "Go." Murtagh tore himself away from the site and drove his heels into the horse. It bolted forward through a gap in the guard. The last thing Murtagh heard before his escape was a single agonized cry as Tornac's life was ripped away from his flesh. Murtagh could almost hear the pitiless laugh as the captain drove his own sword into Tornac's heart.

With a heavy heart, Murtagh kept going with tears running down his face. When he was sure that he was far enough away and wasn't being followed, Murtagh stopped the horse and collapsed on the ground. His body shook with unshed tears as Murtagh realized he would never see Tornac again. Would never hear his voice. Would never again spar with him. Murtagh had lost the only person who had ever shown him kindness. Finally, when Murtagh once again trusted his legs to support his weight, he stood shakily. With trembling fingers, he placed a hand on the gray warhorse.

"I will call you Tornac."

And with that sentiment, Murtagh removed his supplies from the saddlebag and set up camp for the night. He no longer cared if he was found.

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Ajihad looked up from the scroll he was reading as one of his guards let in a tall man. Ajihad immediately recognized the man as the messenger for one of his spies in Uru'baen. The man bowed to Ajihad before handing him a letter. Ajihad opened the letter, curious to know what it would say. Ajihad was shocked by what it said.

_Ajihad,_

_The king has found a prophecy. Unless we can obtain the loyalty of a man named Murtagh, the Varden will fall. He has escaped from Uru'baen so you need have no fear yet of Galbatorix's influence, however we can't allow him to fall back in the hands of the king._

To say that Ajihad was surprised and disturbed by this news would be an understatement, yet he kept a carefully neutral expression fixed on his face. Ajihad realized immediately what the prophecy was. He had heard of it from Brom long ago. This man would decide the fate of this war. Ajihad made a decision to do whatever it took to gain his favor, but first he had to find him.

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Me: Yo! So the chappy is done! Sorry if it took forever but I've had a really busy two weeks. I do have good news and bad news!

Shadow: Oh lord, here it comes.

Me: The good news is that I now have a lot more free time! The bad news is that the reason I have free time is because my softball team lost our regional finals. You probably couldn't care less about that but I do. Anywho- review! And no flames!

Shadow: All flames will be given to me to roast marshmallows!


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